Макс Коллинз: No One Will Hear You

Harrow offered, “Could be they’re cooking up their next batch.”

Choi said, “It’s a small heat source, but it’s getting hotter fast. Think you’re right, boss.”

Watson turned to his deputies, raising his voice a hair. “Could be hot chemicals in there, fellas — let’s stay alert.”

The protocol probably dictated protective suits and the bomb squad and a hundred other things that Harrow knew Watson wasn’t about to wait for.

Harrow, Choi, and the Denver County contingent were poised at woods’ edge on this mountain tonight thanks to a Crime Seen viewer tip.

A comic book dealer, Michael Gold, had become suspicious when he suddenly found himself serving new customers who seemed to have neither knowledge of nor enthusiasm for the collectibles they were buying. They were simply interested in purchasing high-end comics.

When other dealers started showing up at comic conventions with those same books — sold to them at a loss by Gold’s clients — the comics dealer grew suspicious. Who bought pricey comic books they weren’t interested in, and then turned right around and sold them at a loss?

Only somebody very stupid...

... or somebody very smart.

Gold knew damn well he was dealing with smart criminals laundering money.

The team tracked Gold’s Crime Seen line tip to this house, leading to this moment — a televised raid on a meth lab (albeit one taped and edited for next Friday’s show).

Finally, in his earbud, came Jenny’s small, almost timid voice: “Sorry to take so long, boss. There’ve been additions to the original home. Room you’re talking about, behind the living room, is a bedroom. Kitchen is on the other side of the house.”

“Thanks, Jenny,” Harrow said into a lavalier mic, clipped to his shirt. A bedroom converted to a meth lab.

“You’re welcome,” came Jenny’s voice, as if they’d just transacted a sale over a counter. “Uh, J.C.?”

“Yeah?”

“If they’re using meth, not just making it? They may be excitable.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Jen. Keep it in mind.”

Unbidden, Warren Zevon’s song “Excitable Boy” began to play in his mind.

Harrow passed the new information along to Sheriff Watson. “The comic book ‘collectors’ in there are frying up a new batch of crank.”

Watson turned. “Jenkins — you, Siegel, and Hartley get around back, and be goddamn careful. We don’t want to blow that house, and us, to hell and gone... and take Mr. Choi with you.”

Choi looked at Harrow. “I should be out front.”

“Neither one of you,” Watson growled, “oughta be anywhere around here.”

Calmly Harrow said, “A Crime Seen tip brought us here. It’s our bust as much as yours.”

“Don’t see it that way,” Watson said. “No chance either of you civilians goes in with my team.”

Harrow knew when to back off. “No problem. You want Choi around back, that’s where he’s going — right, Billy?”

His voice friendly and his eyes cold, Choi said, “Right.”

But before Choi could fall in with the three deputies, somebody saw headlights at the bottom of the hill.

“Truck,” the deputy said.

They ducked when headlights swept the hill, then clicked off, as a white Cadillac Escalade crept up the drive and came to a smooth stop next to the house.

The driver climbed out — a good six feet, scruffy beard, jeans, and a black-and-red plaid flannel shirt. At the open rider’s side window of his vehicle, he was handed a weapon — looked to Harrow like an AK-47.

“Oh shit,” Sheriff Watson muttered.

No one disagreed with this sentiment.

Though the vehicle mostly blocked their view, Harrow could see both doors on the passenger side.

Two more men got out.

The doors of the SUV were closed carefully, quietly. The no-headlights approach confirmed something wasn’t right here...

Watson said, “Great — more guests at the party.”

“Not welcome guests,” Harrow said.

“Huh?”

“Those aren’t reinforcements.”

The three men eased away from the Escalade and moved silently toward the house. Each carried an automatic weapon.

Acid burned in Harrow’s stomach — he knew what they were about to witness.

So did Choi: “It’s a hit.”

And took off through the woods in the direction of the house.

“It’s a what ?” Watson asked, not sure he’d heard Choi correctly.

“A hit,” Harrow threw back, falling in behind Choi.

Too late for Harrow to advise Choi this wasn’t their battle. Choi had a cop’s instincts.

Loping down the hillside, Harrow could make out the driver cutting around back while the other two crept up to the front door.

He glanced back at the sheriff and the deputies trailing them — confusion on their faces plain even in the dark.

Cameraman Hathaway was behind Denver County’s finest, having the good sense to hang back.

Thrashing through the undergrowth behind Choi, Harrow was just waiting for the gunmen to turn those AK’s in their direction and chop them down, unless an exposed root in this darkness beat them to it, to send Harrow tumbling, breaking his goddamn neck.

Neither Harrow nor Choi had a weapon, the older man wondering if that had even dawned on the younger one. Harrow wasn’t sure which scared him more, being unarmed out here or Choi not caring as they charged unarmed toward three men with automatic weapons.

Choi circled the house, so that he — Harrow tailing him — could close the distance with the lone gunman, heading for the rear.

Glancing back, Harrow saw Watson and most of the deputies peel off to try to take the two out front. Up ahead Choi was keeping low, making rapid progress toward his target.

If our Escalade interloper will just stay focused on his own prey for another few seconds...

Gunfire erupted out front — the distinctive bark of an AK-47!

The interloper’s head snapped around, and he caught movement in the brush nearby. His gun came up, and he dropped into a shooter’s crouch and squeezed the trigger just as Choi broke through the undergrowth, kicking the barrel of the gun, sending its rounds flying harmlessly into the mountain air.

As the interloper brought the weapon around, Choi elbowed the guy in the chest, grabbed the gun by its barrel, and the two men tumbled to the ground, wrestling over the damn thing.

Harrow narrowed the distance quickly, ready to give Choi a hand...

... then the back door of the house slapped open and two T-shirted occupants came bursting out. The pair took off across the yard and, judging from the sounds of a firefight out front, Harrow had no choice.

He took off at a dead run after the meth cookers. The shorter, squatter one was catchable, even if his lankier partner wasn’t.

In Harrow’s earpiece, Jenny’s small, breathless voice was saying, “Boss, we heard gunfire! Everything all right? Boss?”

“Get back to you,” Harrow said breathlessly.

Sucking wind but closing fast, Harrow could hear his prey’s heaving breath over his own. Just short of the woods, Harrow threw a flying tackle, driving the guy down.

The two rolled, meth cooker squealing like a pig, trying to kick free of Harrow’s arms. As the kicks thumped painfully into his chest and arms, Harrow finally released his grip and bounced up, getting to his feet ahead of the meth cooker.

When the pudgy kid finally rose, Harrow was already in a combat stance.

“You’re caught — give it up!”

The kid threw a wild, looping right, which Harrow sidestepped easily.

Harrow said, “Don’t make me—”

The meth cooker interrupted with a lashing kick that Harrow easily avoided. The man’s momentum took him up in the air and landed him on the lawn with a hard whomp , air gushing.